<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Ray one: A Courtyard in Jerusalem by servalansflowers19</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614101">Ray one: A Courtyard in Jerusalem</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/servalansflowers19/pseuds/servalansflowers19'>servalansflowers19</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rays of Moonlight [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Assassin's Creed - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>One Shot Collection, Short One Shot, altmal if you squint, assassins creed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:02:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29614101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/servalansflowers19/pseuds/servalansflowers19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An uncomfortable moonlit night in the Jerusalem bureau</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Rays of Moonlight [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ray one: A Courtyard in Jerusalem</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>’Even by moonlight I have no peace,’ the procurator said to himself, grinding his teeth. - </em>Mikhail Bulgakov, <em>Master and Margarita</em></p><p> </p><p>Malik sat in the corner of the bureau, idly watching the smoke wind its way from the incense burner. No sound was to be heard in the street outside but for the occasional rushed footsteps of someone hurrying home. The walls of the room arose, black as ink, against a wash of moonlight that flooded the courtyard. Malik twirled a white feather in his fingers absentmindedly.</p><p>It had been an hour or more since Altaïr had come in. Malik had all but ignored him. With barely restrained frustration, hot and exhausted after the whole day of scouring the crowded streets, Altaïr had reported back on what he had found out about his next likely target.</p><p>And Malik had known that the strain was not due only to impatience; Altaïr must have suspected, and rightly so, that Malik had sent him to sniff out the information that the rafiq already knew. But an order was an order.</p><p>The bureau desk looked darker and larger in the shadows. The sputtering wick of the lamp made the light flicker fitfully. Shadows danced and elongated the black shape, giving it the look of a tomb.</p><p>Once Altaïr had finished talking, Malik left him to wait. When he could wait no longer, Altaïr asked for a feather. Or rather, he said “Give me the feather.” And Malik had said, “Tomorrow. “</p><p>Altaïr had wanted to know why. Malik had told him curtly that he, Altaïr, was obviously too tired to work and too arrogant to see that simple fact.</p><p>And Altaïr had dared to reply, saying, “You, of all people, cannot truly be worried that I shall get caught or killed. At least then you would be rid of me.”</p><p>To which Malik had replied, “Go away.”</p><p>Then he had busied himself with things on shelves, and with the lamp, and with the tidy stack of feathers, all the while feeling Altaïr’s eyes on him. He had imagined Altaïr’s hands clenching into fists. He listened for the creak of leather and almost smiled.</p><p>And then he had heard Altaïr’s boots in the courtyard. His steps had been slow, as though all his strength had been sapped by exercising restraint. Malik had felt a little disappointed. He had expected a roar, or perhaps even a swing of the fist.</p><p>The lamp flickered again. Beyond the thick, black rectangle of the door, the walls of inner courtyard glowed.</p><p>I should close the grille, Malik thought. Altaïr was unlikely to return tonight, not after being so soundly put in his place. And as for others, well, they could use the door. He had made sure they had the key. And Altaïr did not.</p><p>The wick in the lamp was sinking into oil. The light flared out sporadically, in weakening bursts. Tidy shelves rose like catacomb walls behind the tomb-like bulk of the desk. Malik reached for his sword. It was a good, quiet night to practice, he said to himself. Practice mattered. Practice mattered when one was shut in a tomb.</p><p>He stepped outside. A single ray bisected the inner courtyard into shadow and light. It was clear, painfully bright and Malik thought it was almost ringing against the old stones.</p><p>In the pile of cushions and rugs in the corner, something shone white. Malik stopped.</p><p>Altaïr had not left the bureau. He had merely folded over where he had sat down. The stays and bonds of the belt that held his knives still wrapped around him, making him twist a little awkwardly. The bright ray cut across him cleanly, leaving him half in the shadow and half in the cold light.</p><p>Sword in hand, the forgotten feather tucked into his belt, Malik stared.</p><p>The light grew obscenely bright. The shadows, in turn, grew darker. Altaïr slept unmoving. Whatever tightened string had held him was slackened now. It left him softened and weak. Malik stared at the parted lips and the pale, soft throat in the moonlight.</p><p>The dog that had lorded it over the whole pack was put on a tight leash, Malik thought. The bloodthirsty hound had been beaten down to a chained cur. Now Malik stood above him.</p><p>I could kill you, he thought, well aware of the unsheathed sword in his hand. I could make you pay the price you avoided paying. And no one would ever know.</p><p>The tip of the sword moved out of the shadows. It flashed brightly as the light rebounded against it.</p><p>Altaïr sighed in his sleep. He shifted uncomfortably, face burrowing deeper into the cushions as if to hide from the light. With a quiet, incomprehensible whisper of complaint, he gripped the cushion more firmly. Like a small child, he tucked his hand under his face, and fell quiet once again.</p><p>Kadar had sometimes slept like that, even as an older boy. His hand would clench against the thin pillow in much the same way. On such nights, Malik would usually grip his brother’s hand firmly for a few moments. That would suffice to calm down the restless sleeper.</p><p>How dare you, Malik wanted to say, and almost dropped the sword. His own fingers felt damp with sweat. He adjusted the slippery grip on the hilt.</p><p>How dare you, he thought again, but at himself, and in great confusion. As the light softened Altaïr’s face, Malik had felt an inexplicable urge to repeat the old gesture, to take the hand gripping the pillow, to lower himself down next to the sleeper.</p><p>He could feel the light raining down on him, stripping his bones bare. In the almost perfect silence, he heard his own hoarse breath.</p><p>There was no kindness from the clear sky. No merciful clouds drifted by to extinguish the punishing light and slow down Malik’s heartbeat.</p><p>Malik stepped back into the shadow. The light on the sword was extinguished.</p><p>He sheathed the sword. Kneeling down, he glanced around furtively, even though the light-washed courtyard was empty. With one quick movement, he laid the feather down next to Altaïr’s hand, and slipped back into the safe darkness of the bureau.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/doubleleaf/art/moonlight-144088324">Directly inspired by this artwork.</a>
</p><p>The caption said "imagine a story", so I did. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>